Hall, Jessica (19 page)

"Did you ever go to law school?" Sable heard herself ask
during a lull in the conversation.

"I tried." The smile faded from his face. "I
dropped out after the first semester."

That puzzled her. "Why didn't you go back?"

"The idea of spending my life in courtrooms lost its
appeal." He rose and began collecting the dishes, for which Colette
scolded him soundly.

"You done enough, boy, and Isabel looks about ready to fall
over," she said, shooing him away from the table. She caught Sable's eye.
"I put clean sheets on the spare bed in the
garqonni
è
re
upstairs,
chère.
Best I can do for you young folks tonight."

Sable had forgotten the Martins only had one small bed in the
attic loft—reserved for visiting relatives— which meant she and J. D. would
have to sleep together.

"That will be fine,
grand-m
è
re,
thank you." She rose carefully, wincing at the pull on her bruised
shoulder, and automatically leaned against J. D. as he put a hand on her waist
to steady her. The heat of his palm made her stiffen a little.

"Thanks for the great meal, Mrs. Martin," J. D. said, guiding
Sable toward the stairs. "Good night."

The Martins' spare bedroom was cool and dark. Moonlight from the
attic window showed it was mostly empty, except for the old rope bed and a
battered wooden clothes chest at the foot of it.

The bed was covered with a thick old quilt, but was only slightly
bigger than a twin. She watched him strip off Old Martin's too-small shirt and
said, "I can sleep on the floor."

He reached down and untied the belt of her robe. "You'll
sleep in the bed, with me." He slipped his hands inside to rest them
against either side of her waist. "We'll fit."

Only if she wrapped herself around him and slept on her
side—assuming she could close her eyes under such conditions. "I don't
think that's a good idea." Actually, standing here, a few inches from the
muscular wall of his bare chest, she was convinced of it.

"You're safe. I won't jump on you."

"It's not that." More like her jumping on him.

"You said you weren't afraid of me." He gently eased her
robe off her shoulders and dropped it on top of the clothes chest. "You
change your mind?"

"Yes. No. Oh, I don't know." Exhaustion made her voice
thready. "Jean-Del, this day has been one endless nightmare. I can't think
straight anymore."

"You just need sleep." He led her over to the bed, and pulled
back the quilt and sheets. "Get in."

With a sigh she climbed onto the thin mattress, then moved over to
the edge as he stretched out next to her. She tried to preserve the scant space
between their
bodies, but his arm came around her waist and tugged her back
against him before he pulled the covers over them both.

"Relax." His breath was warm against her hair, and the
heat from his body penetrated the thin flannel of her nightgown. "Your
shoulder okay?"

"Yes." She couldn't feel her shoulder. She could feel
other things, though, and shifted her hips forward an inch, so that the curve
of her bottom wasn't pressing into the crotch of his jeans. She could smell the
soap he'd used in the shower, and felt the steady thud of his heart just below
her nape.

Say something.
"Are you
comfortable?"

"I'm all right." He ran his hand over her hair,
smoothing down some wayward strands. "I'm used to more room, though."

Didn't he have a girlfriend? "I have a double at home. As
big, I mean, as tall as you are, I guess you'd need a king-size." Oh, God,
she was starting to babble. She squeezed her eyes closed and faked a yawn.
"I'll think I'll go sleep now."

He put an arm over her, letting it rest at her waist. "Good
night."

It was not going to be a good night—she knew that three minutes
into trying to force herself into unconsciousness. Where before she'd felt
dull-witted and tired, now every inch of her skin seemed to bunch with nerves.
It didn't help to be so close to him, not when he was generating so much heat
that they could be lying naked without a sheet and she wouldn't feel the chilly
night air.

Sweat prickled her brow as she recalled the last time she'd been
this close to him. Since he'd lived at home with his parents, and she'd had a
roommate, they'd never shared a bed at college. It hadn't stopped
them—they'd
made do with a blanket spread over the grass in a shadowy corner of the park,
and once they hadn't made it out of the front seat of his car.

In those days, she'd been so awkward and inexperienced, and
Jean-Delano had had to teach her everything. He'd never made her feel clumsy,
though. He'd taken her from good-night kisses to more sensual delights
gradually, making the time they spent alone into a journey of the senses. He'd
lured her out of her embarrassment about intimacy, convincing her to explore
him and showing her what he liked. At the same time he taught her things she
had never known about her own body.

Touch me like this,
he had murmured to her once
when they were parked by the lake. He'd slid his hand into her panties and
guided her fingers into the open zipper of his jeans. As she curled her hand
around his hard, satiny length, and stroked him with the same slow rhythm that
he was using to caress her, he'd groaned.
Like that, yeah.

He'd never once forced her to do anything she didn't want, but
he'd never had to. On the night they'd had sex for the first time, she had been
more than ready to tear her clothes off and beg him to make love to her.

It's just a subconscious reaction,
she
told herself as she surreptitiously squeezed her thighs together against the
growing, empty ache between them.
I've been running on fear and adrenaline,
and my body wants some comfort.

"Are you hot?"

She nearly jerked upright, and then turned toward him, ready to
leap out of the bed if necessary. "What?"

"I'm hot." J. D. propped himself up on one elbow and
wiped a trickle of sweat from her temple. As he
did, her hip
connected with the solid ridge under the front of his jeans. "So are
you."

"I'm..."
Sweating, aching, wanting. Wanting to slip
my hands in your jeans and stroke you, the way you taught me to do it.
"I
guess we don't need the quilt."

He sat up and pushed the patchwork coverlet down toward the end of
the bed. As he did, she watched the silvery light from the window play over the
muscles of his back. The faint sheen of his sweat made her want to reach out
and run her fingers over his skin.

No, I want to put my mouth on him and taste it.

Of all the men she'd ever been intimate with, only J. D. had ever
made her feel so uninhibited and excited—and not because he had been her first
lover. She'd tried to forget him and fall in love again, but she'd never
experienced with any other man the emotional connection she and J. D. had
shared. Every relationship she'd had since college had been brief and
disappointing. Oh, she had enjoyed the sex, but she'd never found the sense of
completion that she and Jean-Del had given each other—that indefinable feeling
that they were whole only when they were together.

He wrecked me for good,
she thought, suddenly filled
with resentment,
but he probably didn't think twice about me after I left.
A
pang of guilt shot through her as she recalled what he'd said about law school
at dinner. He would have enrolled that fall, just after their breakup. Or
maybe
he did.

"Better?" He lowered himself down beside her.

"Yes." She shifted over onto her side again, but the
question wouldn't leave her in peace. "Jean-Del?"

He moved in, cradling her with his frame. "Hmmm?"

"Did you quit law school because of me?"

He was silent for so long that she almost told him to
forget
that she'd asked. Finally he sighed and said, "We'll talk about it another
time. Go to sleep, Sable."

Absently she rubbed her hand over the back of her neck where his
breath tickled it, then winced as her hair caught on the broken skin of her
palms.

He tensed behind her. "What now?" He sounded impatient
this time.

"My hand is a little sore, too." She flexed it,
inspecting her palm with tired eyes in the scant light from the window.
The
window...
She yawned. "I got them when I was trying to get out of a
window. Upstairs."

He went still. "Got what?"

"This morning you asked me where I got the splinters in my
hands. I tried to get out of a window at the front of the warehouse
upstairs." She'd been so frantic to get away from the fire, she hadn't
clearly remembered the moment. Now she was so tired she could barely keep her
eyes open. "The windows were boarded up; I couldn't pull them off."

"Couldn't you find the door?"

"Downstairs?" She yawned. "I tried, but it wouldn't
open."

Her last thought before she fell asleep was of the door of the
warehouse—the same door she had used to enter it. It had been open when she
came in.

While Sable slept, J. D. stared at the chinking between the wooden
planks of the ceiling. Several hours passed before he gave up on sleep and got
out of the tiny bed. He watched as she rolled toward the now-empty space in the
bed, unconsciously reaching for him before snuggling into his pillow.

He didn't have to stand there and look at her, but he
did.
There was just enough light for him to see the serenity of her face as she
slept on. Enough to penetrate the thin stuff of her nightgown and outline the
way her breasts swelled and curved on either side of the buttons, the jut of
the blunt angles of her hipbones, and the suggestion of a dark triangle at the
top of her thighs.

He was tired, and bruised, and still as painfully erect as he'd
gotten the moment he'd lain down beside her.

Get away from her before you do something more stupid than losing
her at the hospital.

A
quick check downstairs revealed that Old Martin and his wife were
also in bed asleep. Silently J. D. went to retrieve his cell phone where he had
left it to dry out in the kitchen, then slipped out to the porch. He needed
time to think, to talk to his partner, to find out what was happening back in
the city. He also needed to put some space between his imagination and Sable's
body.

Once outside, he switched on the phone and was gratified to see it
was working again. He checked his watch—2:34 A.M.—then dialed Terri Vincent's
home phone number.

It rang six times before a disgruntled female voice slurred,
"'Lo?"

"Terri, it's me."

"I just got to sleep—me had better be God." There was a
rustling sound, and a groan. "J. D.?"

He smiled in spite of his brooding mood. "How many partners
do you have?"

"More than I can handle." She yawned noisily.
"After he was done gnawing on my posterior, Captain Pellerin said to tell you
that if you're not sick or dead,
that you're on
administrative suspension, effective yesterday. So tell me you're puking up a
lung."

He could imagine what their boss had said to her, punctuated in
words of four letters and little compassion. "I got shot at tonight—does
that count?"

"Only if he hit a vital organ." There was a click and an
inhalation as Terri lit a cigarette. "Who's shooting at you and how can I
reward him?"

He gave her the details of what had occurred since he'd brought
Sable to Mercy Hospital earlier that day. "We're okay now," he added
at the end, "but I need to move her to a secure location."

Terri exhaled. "So bring her in and we'll put her into
protective custody, like we were supposed to this morning. Our safe house is
extremely secure, and it's protected by some very large, mean men with many
guns."

"No." What he planned to do would likely cost him his
career, but he couldn't think about that now. He couldn't trust Sable's safety
to anyone else, not until they nailed whoever was trying to kill her. "I'm
not bringing her in, Ter."

There was dead silence for a minute, and then Terri snarled,
"You're aware that you're out of your tiny fucking mind, I hope."

"Probably."

"She stole a car—"

He rubbed his eyes. "She borrowed it."

"Stole,
J. D. And now you're building a little
swamp love nest with her?" Terri's voice became strangled, and she coughed
for a minute. "Jesus Christ, Pellerin isn't just going to take your
badge—he's going to enamel your molars with it."

"I can take the heat."

"Let me turn up the thermostat, then. Marc LeClare
was
murdered; someone beat his skull in before setting the fire. An X-ray
technician who was working on Sable at Mercy was found strangled. Have you
noticed how men are dropping like flies around this girl?"